


Bloodlust

by beanjournal



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood, Blood Kink, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Feral Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, First Time, Melodramatic Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation, NSFW Art, Post-Time Skip, Sort Of, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22345915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanjournal/pseuds/beanjournal
Summary: Dimitri is consumed by The tumult of his inner demons, and is piqued by Byleth’s tumultuous innards.(Post-time skip Blue Lions. No spoilers beyond the general state of Dimitri’s mental health)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 5
Kudos: 99





	Bloodlust

Since finding him at the castle she has been dogged in her attempts to draw him out, in her own strange way. While Dimitri finds the overbearing care and concern of the others stifling, he can admit that Byleth’s persistent calm presence at his elbow is not disruptive to him. In fact the time spent silently in each other’s company occasionally allows him to quiet some of the chaos in his mind, and he dully hopes for this respite each time she takes a seat next to him at what has otherwise been established as “the Boar’s table” in the dining hall. This is not to be one of those peaceful mealtimes. The sweet young prince in the back of his mind is moved by her care, still moons over her and earnestly wishes for her to remain near, desperately wants to reach out to her. His voice rings distantly in the ears of present-day Dimitri, drowned out for his impudence and selfishness by the tormented wails, accusations and demands lobbed at him from the mob of fallen loved ones who have more right to his ear. How can she be sitting so close to him when he is clearly suffocating at the center of a rioting crowd? He vaguely tries to make sense of these conflicting spatial realities as he eats just enough food to power the revenge machine that is his corporeal form and stalks away to find somewhere he can be alone to sort through the torrent of grievances. 

Each time he hears that the enemy is approaching Dimitri is darkly elated. Each opportunity for combat is a chance to make good on his promises to the dead. Despite the strategies and precautions discussed in the morning’s tactical meeting he careens onto the battlefield more animal than man. He accepts the presence of his allies as means to his own end, but pays them little heed otherwise. His pained misgivings about being viewed as their defacto leader overwhelm any solace he might find in their company. The exception, as always, is Byleth. In spite of the dense cloud of rage in which he is enveloped, Dimitri is somehow constantly aware of her on the battlefield. She is so precise and focused in her movements and yet nearly omnipresent in her awareness of her troops. His fascination with her might have cost him dearly were he concerned at all for his own life, but somehow his disregard for self-preservation serves him unsettlingly well in combat and the day is won. 

Dimitri makes his way back to the monastery, catatonic in his disappointment that this last bloody outing has once again earned him no peace. He stews throughout his bath, agonizing over how and when he will finally take the head that will release him from his quest for revenge. Soaking does not provide any respite from the mess of heavy guilt and he resents his haunting for denying him even a brief moment to celebrate living through another battle. But, he reasons, the dead are single-minded in their desires and care nothing for his leisure. He moves mindlessly from the baths back to his room and on his way passes Byleth who, as usual, draws at least a portion of his attention as she glides by. She looks fresh from the bath as well, yet in her wake Dimitri catches the distinct tang of blood. As she recedes down the hall his mind jumps tracks and begins replaying the battle. When was she hurt? How did he miss it? Guilt rises up in his throat as he considers the possibility that his preoccupation could have caused another treasured person to be lost before his eyes. His already overextended sense of responsibility kicks in and he whirls around, marching toward Byleth’s quarters. 

When he reaches her door Dimitri pauses to listen for signs of distress within and, hearing nothing, gives a sharp knock and waits anxiously. Byleth opens the door in an unadorned black robe tied loosely at the front and reaching just past her knees. A cursory glance reveals no obvious injuries, her countenance betrays no discomfort other than the surprise of finding him at her door, and yet the faint metallic scent is there, driving Dimitri to distraction. She steps back to let him in, perhaps believing his visit indicates a desire to finally discuss what has obviously been plaguing him. As soon as the door closes Dimitri crowds her against it. He can’t seem to rein in his concern and interest and before he realizes he is sniffing at her like a wild animal. It distantly occurs to him that this is extremely inappropriate —a trespass against the boundaries of a person he wishes to treat with the utmost care and respect, and yet he has to know what her body is trying to tell him. He makes it to his knees before Byleth reacts, tugging sharply on his hair and bringing his awareness to their position; her up against the door and him nosing primally at the juncture of her thighs through her robe. Shame hits him like a bucket of cold water. “If you’re injured, don’t hide it“ he snarls. “We can’t suffer a loss for your inconsequential pride.” He internally winces at this weak attempt to explain his inexplicable behavior as well the flagrant irony of the admonishment coming from him. All he wants to do is disappear, unable to face the embarrassment of having come to her like this, unworthy as he is, but Byleth loosens her hold on his hair and he raises his head to meet her gaze. 

He is perplexed to see her usually impassive face contorted into confusion and is further baffled when she breaks into a strangely triumphant smile. Her hand is still firmly in his hair, holding him a few inches from her torso such that when she reaches for the edge of her robe her knuckles drag slowly across his lips. Dimitri’s brain kick-starts as he realizes the source of the tinny scent in the same moment he takes in the nakedness presented to him. Byleth’s inner thighs are stained reddish-brown where the blood dries dark and tacky. Her coarse pubic hair is matted with it and the beast in him cranes his neck forward, leaning into the scent and sight of it. From this intense proximity the smell of blood mixes with something warm and peaty and distinctly, powerfully alive. Dimitri vaguely acknowledges his awareness of this bodily function in the abstract while struggling to make sense of the reality of this different context for blood. He looks up at Byleth, still needing reassurance that she isn’t in pain. Her gaze locks on his and it’s clear she has been watching him intently throughout his exploration. He becomes aware that he is shaking only when she clasps the hand he has left hanging in the space between them and places it on her hip. Close enough to be an invitation but far enough to allow him to retreat. A safe place from which to push off, back into his solitary orbit. 

The gesture unleashes his curiosity and sends a rush of arousal down his spine. It settles heavily in his gut and he fidgets his legs against each other as he steels himself to slide his hand down from her hip to her thigh. Thumbing through her pubic hair to spread her open, he starts at a hiss from above as he brushes against the soft surface of her. He looks intently back up at her, seeking confirmation that this was what she meant, and finds sharp eyes boring into him, lips parted and still forming an exhilarated smile that he simply cannot reconcile with the presence of blood oozing from such a tender place. Byleth widens her stance almost imperceptibly and he digs two fingers into her in a way that is exploratory rather than sensual. She groans in approval in spite of his less-than-tender ministrations and his pants grow impossibly tighter. The source of the blood is not a wound, unless he is to understand this entrance as some kind of perpetual injury. But the way Byleth sighs into his wriggling fingers stalls his mind and leaves him focused on the soft wet sound of the entrance before him and the unmistakable stain of blood dripping into his palm. When he draws his fingers back a sizeable clot sticks between them and remains connected to her by an increasingly thin strand of deep red as he pulls away. He flexes his fingers apart and watches the viscous fluid stretch and separate between them. He pushes into it and finds it yielding but not fully liquid. Dimitri looks up to see her watching him darkly, finally wearing a flush high on her cheeks, and he smears his fingers roughly against her lower belly. 

Something fizzles in the air between them and Byleth’s hand releases the gentle hold on his hair in favor of roughly grabbing his chin and dragging him toward her, as her hips flex forward to meet him. His nose and mouth are enveloped in the overwhelming smell of her. It punches him in the gut and has him unconsciously spreading his knees and thrusting his hips up into nothing. Desperate for an anchor in this experience, Dimitri reaches up to ground himself with both hands around her strong waist and pulls her down into his mouth as he licks up into her. Overheard barbs on his insatiable bloodlust bubble up in the back of his mind as he recontextualizes the phrase, rolling the alkaline flavor of Byleth over his tongue and considering how much a casual awareness of this fact of a woman’s body had not prepared him for the solid, grounding, dizzying, suffocating experience of taking in her bloody reality with all of his senses. He pants harshly over the surface of her, reaching his tongue as far into her as it will go, and becoming aware that her labored breathing is increasingly punctuated with strangled moans coming faster and harder the deeper he digs into her. 

He releases her waist in order to stroke two fingers inside of her, tonguing at the fold of her and listening for the best place to focus his energy. As he pistons his fingers in and out of her he is overtaken by curiosity about this interior space she is sharing with him. How much of him can it take? He imagines pulling her down into his lap as he adds a third finger and feels her shudder against him from within. Byleth spreads her legs farther still and it dawns on him that this is an invitation to explore her capacity in a way he is almost terrified of. He retracts his three fingers and— pinching all five digits tightly together— slowly eases his hand back into her. The tight heat and sloppy sound is too much to bear, and he grinds down on himself with the palm of his free hand, forgetting the ministrations of his tongue and panting his disbelief against her clit. Byleth’s strong legs shake on either side of his face and he braces his shoulders against them, matching the timing of his hand and tongue and marveling at the increasing pitch of her cries. His own arousal pounds in his ears and he rubs abrasively against the front of his pants, overwhelmed by the intense closeness of her and feeling the limitations of his inexperience and desperation. Tears sting the corners of his eyes at the simultaneous novelty and long-dreamt inevitability of being with her in this way. As worries of inadequacy and clumsiness needle him Byleth’s thighs increase the pitch of their shuddering and he is unable to do anything but lean and moan into her as he releases harshly into the tight, uncomfortable heat of his pants. Above him Byleth curves protectively over herself and him, her hands clutching at his shoulders and her hair tickling the back of his neck. She lets out a long, wailing curse ending on a hoarse utterance of his name as his fingers stutter and he gasps to catch his breath against her. 

He removes his cramped fingers from her slowly and can’t resist the urge to put them into his mouth to get one more taste of her. Hands are in Dimitri’s hair again, gentler this time. They ease him away from her in a way that distresses him at first until she melts to her knees, framing his lap and catching her breath as she settles over him. Byleth holds his face in both hands and looks at him as if he is something precious and surprising rather than a beast with a bloody muzzle He feels abruptly very young and vulnerable as she leans in to kiss him. They breathe languidly into each other’s mouths and he becomes gradually aware of the unexpected quiet in his mind. Awareness starts turning to panic and guilt when she takes him fully, knowingly into her arms and strokes her hand through his hair in a way so rhythmic and comforting that his mind is quiet for a while longer.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/145773450@N08/49426798982/in/photostream/)

**Author's Note:**

> [Updated 8/31 to reflect my newly-honed image-embedding skills!]
> 
> Hi there! In the spirit of being the change you want to see in the world (more and messier menstrual fuckin’), here is my first ever work of fan fiction! You can say nice things to me about it on twitter at @beanjournal 
> 
> Thank you so much Jane and Ashe for kindly editing this messy situation.


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